The Road Goes Ever On
by Dayla Nighthook
Summary: When their father goes missing, Dean of Wincheshire seeks out his brother, Sam, in the Silverymoon University in Northern Faerun. What follows is an epic adventure where love, secrets, and destiny intertwine. Set in Forgotten Realms Contains Wincest!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Supernatural and all recognizable characters within this work of fiction do not belong to me. Dungeons and Dragons and Forgotten Realms also belong to someone who ain't me.

Additional disclaimer: Those familiar with the non-Supernatural aspects of the story be warned - I followed the established rules and settings about as much as the books and computer/video games do. Therefore, things have been changed to suit the story.

o--[:::::::::::

The city of Silverymoon was a quiet, peaceful place. Considered the "Jewel of the North," it was inhabited by peace-loving scholars, mages, and other intellectuals. Unlike other major cities of Faerun, Silverymoon tried to incorporate nature into it's design instead of clearing it out, making it a place of balance - light and dark, innovation and tradition, tamed nature and civilization.

However, Silverymoon was not a place for a wild creature to prowl.

That fact were at the forefront of Sam's mind as he looked up at his brother's face, Selune's light shining through the window making his face glow with an ethereal light.

"Dean?" he said, once his whirling thoughts settled on one final fact, _Dean was there._ "What are you doing here?"

"What?" Dean asked, and he relaxed a little, more sprawling over Sam rather than holding him down. "A guy can't see his little brother once in a while? I gotta tell you, Sammy; you're out of practice. Too many books making you soft?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the challenge and twisted, grabbing Dean by the edges of his breastplate and flipping their positions, so that he was the one pressing his brother into the floor. Dean oofed. "Guess not."

Smirking, Sam gave Dean another slight push and rose to his feet. As he gave Dean a hand up he eyed his brother, realizing just how little his older brother had changed since they saw each other four years ago. Dean still wore the same hodge-podge of hide and scale armor; heavy leather boots, metal greaves, snug-fitting trousers made from the leather of some striped beast, fur-lined hide gauntlets that he'd tucked into his belt, and a scale breastplate - also black, but scratched and scuffed with age - over a chain hauberk. At his double-belt hung a spatha, the familiar hilt catching Sam's eye. He knew that when Dean drew it the blade would be pure, black, dwarven steel. His armor was well cared-for, and despite the metal he moved nearly soundlessly, and easily.

In just a light pair of trousers and a linen shirt, Sam felt greatly underdressed in comparison.

"Tell me the truth, Dean," Sam urged, refusing the urge to look towards his bedroom. His two rooms allowed to him were small enough to wake Jess easily, and he thought he could hear movement on the other side of the door separating the two areas. "What are you doing here?"

"Samuel?" at once both Dean and Sam looked towards the voice, and Jessica continued, unconcerned that she was wearing only a shift. "What's going on? Who is this?"

"Jess, uh," for a moment Sam was at a loss for words. He gestured towards his brother. "This is Dean," he said. Glancing to his side, he scowled at Dean's expression. "Dean, his is Jess. She's my girlfriend." He tried to put as much emphasis in the last two words as he could, but Dean was already striding towards her, a familiar smirk on his face.

"Jess, hello," he said. "I have to say that you deserve far better than my brother. You'd make Sune herself jealous."

Jess's eyes narrowed and she turned away. "Excuse me, I suddenly feel the need to leave."

"No, no," Dean replied quickly, "No need for that." His expression changed from merely flirtatious to something more heated. "Please, stay."

"Dean!" Sam snapped, getting tired of repeating himself. "What are you doing here?"

With one last longing look at Jess, Dean walked back to Sam. "Sorry honey, but I gotta borrow your beau for a little while. His family needs his help."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, getting frustrated. "You guys don't need my help. You never do." If there was any bitterness in his tone, Dean didn't react to it.

Dean looked Sam in the eye, and every emotion disappeared from his face, leaving it a stony mask. When he spoke his voice as toneless, a match for his expression. "Dad had a job. He didn't return."

Despite all the arguments, all the pain and frustration the man had caused Sam in his life, at that news he felt as if his guts had frozen. His and Dean's eyes held each other for a long moment, Dean's daring, Sam's thoughtful, then, finally resigned.

"Excuse me Jessica," he said finally, looking away from both of them. "I need to go."

o--[:::::::::::

Dean was waiting in the hallway outside when Sam finally left his rooms. Before she closed the door, Jessica gave him one last smile, understanding in her eyes. Not wanting to make a big scene in front of his brother with long goodbyes, Sam bent to give her a goodbye kiss, and turned away before he could change his mind about going at all.

For once Dean didn't say anything as they headed down the hallway, their strides matching instinctively like they did years ago, back when things were simpler between the two of them. The only thing he did was give the pendant that hung around Sam's neck, the eye-and-candle of Denier, The Scribe, a dismissive glance before he lead the way out.

Despite the late hour the university was still awake - they passed several students either stumbling to bed after a late study session, blinking wearily and rubbing sore eyes, or having awoke early to get a head start on their own studies for the day. The ones not absorbed in their own thoughts gave both Sam and Dean cautious looks and skirted around them as much as the narrow hallways would allow. Dean seemed unfazed, but Sam would look away whenever they passed and, despite his leather armor being his own and worn from use, with Dean he felt like an imposter in a stranger's clothing

Finally, Dean broke the silence as they neared the courtyard leading out of the university. He cleared his throat, and without looking at Sam, asked, "So she knows?"

Shifting his pack, Sam replied in the same tone of voice, "That dad was a mercenary? Yeah."

"You mean _we _were mercs. You, me, and Dad."

"No, Dean," Sam sighed at how some things really never did change. "_Dad_ was a merc - he just dragged me and you along with him until we strong enough to swing a sword."

Finally Dean looked at Sam, green eyes flashing with anger in the darkness. "Are you still going on about that? Dad did the best he could for us!"

"Are you joking?" Sam asked and stopped walking. Dean took a couple steps without him before he paused, standing stock-still. "Doing his best is _not _dragging his young children with him to, to caves, or mines, or wherever he had a hunt! No kid should have killed kobolds for money before their voices even changed, and you know it!" Sam strode forward, furious, and grabbed Dean's shoulder and pulled, trying to get his older brother to face him.

Dean whirled before Sam could do more than touch him, and Sam backed away - the expression on Dean's face was thunderous, and Sam feared for a moment that his brother was going to throw a punch.

"He was trying to find the creature who killed mom," Dean said, and Sam could tell by the way he was spacing his words he was trying to keep his temper in check. "He had to do those jobs so he could get information. More importantly, he was _helping people._ He wasn't sitting around reading books for years - he actually _cared._"

Sam looked away and huffed, trying not to show how that last comment hurt him. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help feeling like a little boy who just wanted his brother's approval.

"Listen," he said, doing his best to sound calm. "Do you want my help or not? I have an interview for a sponsorship in a few days - I want to get back before then."

Dean kept his focus on Sam for a long minute before seeming to deflate, running a hand through his short-shorn hair and glancing to the side, where they were gathering a small, curious crowd. "Yeah, fine. Come on, I've got a couple horses for us outside of town - should only be a couple days' ride there and back."

Sam nodded and they were once more heading out, though with greater tension between them.

Sam had to admit to being impressed with how easily Dean managed to get to the closest city gates - Silverymoon was built to work around trees and natural rock formations, and the streets were a maze that had stymied Sam for weeks. Dean seemed nearly at home as he headed towards the gates in as close to a straight line as he could. Almost, Sam considered, as if he'd made the trek many times before.

It wasn't a comforting thought. If Dean was coming to Silverymoon to spy on Sam, and he hadn't realized he was being watched, then the indication that he was being so lax was disturbing.

"So where are we going?" Sam asked. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the citizenry were starting to rouse - mostly men and women heading to the market quarter to set up their stalls, or to one of the many schools or libraries. As the streets began to fill the brothers were getting fewer stares, and Sam began to relax, feeling more comfortable when he was blending in.

Dean of course had to be contrary - just his mere presence seem to invite glances. Which was another thing that just didn't change, Sam thought wryly. Dean was always handsome enough to draw attention, he'd been approached time and again by the temple of Sune, and even the pleasure-seeking Sharess worshippers to join their numbers, but Dean'd remained stubbornly Faithless. He had no qualms about using either Sune's name or his good looks to get what he wanted, but to go as far as actually worshipping the Goddesses of Love and Beauty was too much for him.

When Dean looked over, Sam realized he was staring and looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks heat. He thought things would be different after being apart for so long. Obviously, he'd thought wrong.

"Everlund," Dean said, and it took Sam a moment to remember the question he'd just asked his brother. Dean continued, not noticing Sam's embarrassment. "There's been stories of a monster attacking people traveling there along Evermoor Way. Mostly solitary men, but the survivors' stories all seem to match. A single, humanoid creature, who looks like a beautiful woman. Usual modus operandi for that type - tries to lure them off the path, and when that doesn't work she'll attack outright. Dad was headed for Everlund to talk to the guy who wanted her gone, some merchant. That's the last I heard of him."

Sam paused, uneasy. The town Everlund was only a little over a day's ride away, and as far north as they were, there was little else of interest - the closest major city was a few tendays away.

"What do you think he was going after?" Sam asked instead, mentally going through anything that could be. Nymphs were at the top of his list, but depending on the light and angle they saw her, it could be a bog hag, yuki onna, even a bored woodling…

"Glaistig," said Dean. "All accounts say the same thing - woman with white hair and blue eyes in a river who refused to get any further out than waist-deep. Said she was singing, and they just barely shook off her spell before they went into the water."

Sam nodded, "That was wise."

"So I'm thinking we head to Everlund, ask around, see if Dad ever arrived to claim the award. If not, we seek out the creature, kill it if it still lives, and see if we can pick up his trail from there."

At that moment they'd reached the gates. Even so early in the morning it was congested with people entering and exiting, their progress slowed by the guards checking travelers over, poking through carts and pulling seemingly random people out of the crowd for a pat-down. Though Silverymoon wasn't often attacked, the guards had learned to be wary.

The brothers were quiet while they pushed their way through, focusing more on getting to the other side of the gates instead of conversation. None of the guards spared the two a second glance, and once on the other side the crowd had opened up enough that they were able to make their way to the stables down the road with ease.

Once there, Dean handed one of the stable boys two wooden chips with symbols painted on them, and the boy returned soon after with two horses, already saddled and ready to go.

Dean swung into the saddle of his own horse (black, Sam was unsurprised to find) with the ease of doing it a thousand times, and Sam found himself hesitating before mounting his own roan one. Getting on was the first step to going back to adventuring, leaving Silverymoon, leaving Jess behind. If he left when Dean asked him to once, would he do it again later? And again, and again, and again, until he was more mercenaries than anything else?

"Do you need a block?" Dean's voice broke into Sam's thoughts. Sam shook his head once, as if casting aside such negative ponderings and without answering Dean he grabbed the pommel and mounted, settling as easy into the saddle as if he never left it.

"Alright," Sam said, looking at Dean, who was watching him with a strange expression on his face. "Let's go."

o--[:::::::::::

Dean couldn't help glancing at Sam every few moments, and every time he saw his brother at his side he felt a little thrill. Sam being there felt _right _like nothing else had for far too long. Every time, for years, whenever he looked around him and saw only his father or, worse, no one, he felt a little bit out of step; it was like the world was dancing to a tune that he could only sometimes hear - every now and again he'd feel like he was starting to get the rhythm, but then he'd lose it and stumble.

He snorted at himself - he was no fruity bard or whatever, what the hell was he thinking?

Fruitiness aside… he glanced again at Sam and grinned.

"So what's with the sword?" he asked.

Sam jumped slightly, as if startled. His horse lurched forward a couple steps in response until Sam soothed it with a low voice and strokes along it's neck. That taken care of and they were riding close enough for their legs to brush, he looked at Dean, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Apparently self-consciously he reached back to briefly touch the pommel of the claymore slung across his back.

"Hey, I'm not going to treat you any different or anything. I mean, I know some guys need to compensate with a big sword and all but I'd think you'd take after your big brother."

Dean's grin was fit to crack his face as he watched the steady track of emotions cross Sam's face, first confusion, then realization, embarrassment, and finally annoyance. Sam slugged Dean's arm with a muttered, "Jerk."

Dean just laughed and nudged his horse's sides, cantering forward and out of Sam's reach.

"Don't worry Sam," he called back over his shoulder. "If your lady friend is still with you despite you being tragically deformed, you must be doing something right!" He paused for a moment, and added, "Bitch."

"I hate you!" Sam shouted back.

Dean sighed happily, settling back into his saddle. Gods above, he missed Sam.


	2. Chapter 2

Everlund was a town with a strong mercantile community, and was built to support that community. The streets were wide and cobbled, any pits or broken stones were patched promptly or quickly replaced to keep carts that carried valuable products from getting damaged. The city was along the banks of the river Rauvin; indeed, the river bisected the city in two.

Security was much more lax there compared to Silverymoon - though guards stood at the entrance, Sam and Dean were only given a cursory glance as they came through. They'd left Silverymoon the previous day, and had arrived at Everlund at midday, so most of the townsfolk were still busy going about their day-to-day business.

"Who do we have to talk to?" Sam asked, and Dean looked over to see Sam hunched in his saddle, looking irritated. Dean knew how much Sam hated _not _knowing things, and the thought to tease him a bit, purposely withhold information until the last minute crossed his mind. With no little regret, Dean let the thought pass - he'd have Sam with him for little enough time, he can stand to toss his brother a bone.

"Some guy named Madan Albrecht, a clothier's. Apparently this Glaistig killed two important customers of his or something, each a month apart."

"And now no-one wants to do business with a guy whose clients get killed," Sam picked up the thread, understanding what Dean was getting at.

"Exactly. Other shop owners are losing clients as well, but he got the word out first about a reward. The money's good, but apparently the creature'll disappear if any large parties go after it, and has so far either killed all the single or paired adventurers going after it; male or female, or they simply couldn't find it and returned empty-handed."

Sam nodded and followed Dean as he led the way down the streets. Dean knew the best place to find anyone is to find a tavern - preferably one the locals preferred, and not just the travelers looking for a cheap drink and cheaper sex. Someone would know where to find the man they were looking for, and a chance to rest his ass for a little while would be a bonus. Sam was already shifting and looking uncomfortable, but he was stubbornly not saying anything. That worried Dean - Sam never passed up a chance to complain unless he was either planning on asking Dean for something later, or he was stockpiling ammunition to use against him.

Dean found the perfect place to get information - a little tavern, sort of shoved into a corner and seemingly forgotten, but the edges of the wide-open door were worn smooth by countless hands, the floor scuffed by an untold number of feet shuffling in and stumbling out, and no flashy decorations to make the place seem more inviting to the weary pilgrim.

Instead, the tavern was quiet, unassuming, a cozy little place away from the hustle of the main drag.

Perfect.

They tied their horses outside, and Dean smirked when he saw Sam's stiff movements as he tried to stretch out muscles locked into position after hours of riding with body that had gotten too unused to it.

Dean lead the way inside, pausing for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the sudden change from bright daylight to the dimmer interior. Once he was able to make out the shapes of tables and chairs he made his way to the long bar along one wall, Sam a tall shadow behind him.

As early as it was, the only other people inside was the bartender, a single waitress, and the professional drunks who had nothing better to do.

Dean sidled up to the bar, catching the eye of everyone inside. Sam meanwhile kept near the door, keeping an eye out for trouble. It didn't take long to get the information they needed, and they were out of the tavern and back in the bright sunlight soon after, Dean's lips still wet with the drink he'd bought.

Albrecht's shop was near the other end of the city, and when the two entered they noticed a marked lack of customers. A man, middle-aged with a healthy girth, who was seated behind the counter immediately stood up, his face lightening. "Ah, gentlemen!" he said affably. "What can this old man do for you? Are you looking for anything in particular?"

Sam hung back once more, and let Dean take the lead.

"Are you the one who had the contract out on the Glaistig?" Dean asked, cutting straight to the point.

If anything, the man, Madan Albrecht, looked even more excited to see the two of them. "Yes, yes!" he said, clasping his hands together. "Are you here to claim the reward? Did you slay the creature?"

Dean looked back and shared a look with Sam. For as long as their father had gone missing, he had to have had plenty of time to take care of the Glaistig problem, if he even went after it at all.

"No, sorry," Dean said, and Albrecht visibly deflated. "We didn't kill it, but we'll like to ask you a couple questions about it."

"Feel free, ask away," the man said, emphatically helpful.

"Our father told us he would be coming here to take care of the monster," Dean said. "Did someone show up yesterday or earlier today for the contract? He'd be carrying a longsword with a black hilt."

Albrecht shook his head in a negative. "No, no one has shown up to claim the reward or announce their availability in over a fortnight."

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, sensing more than hearing Sam step up behind him and grasp his shoulder and squeeze.

Sam said from behind Dean, "If you still need the Glaistig killed, we'll do it. But this is our only lead for finding our father, you understand…"

Albrecht nodded quickly. "Oh, thank you young men! Of course I'll also use all the means at my disposal to trace down your father's last whereabouts. If he had so much as set foot in this city I'll find it out. If he's still here, I'll offer him the use of my own house until you return, and if he left I'll find out where he went, don't you worry!"

Both Sam and Dean inclined their bodies in thanks, turned, and left.

o--[:::::::::::

They rode in tense silence for a while their eyes tried to pick out any sign of movement upriver. Dean was once more the one to break the hush.

"Why do you have to be back tomorrow?" Dean asked, staring at the space between his stallion's ears. "Do you have a class or something?"

Sam hesitated a long moment, and he could hear Sam shifting in his saddle before finally admitting, "The university isn't cheap, Dean. Most people who go there have families wealthy enough to pay for their tuition. I had to test in, but they'll only take me in for a few years; afterwards it's up to me to either leave and use what I learned there, or find a sponsor who would be willing to pay my way."

Dean was a quiet for a moment as he processed that information. "So, what you're saying is that you have to be back in time to find this sponsor? Or you found one and… what? You gotta impress them, recite poetry or, or do some alchemy shit, or something like that?"

"Yeah," Sam said quietly. "Something like that."

Dean turned to give Sam a steady look. His brother was looking down at his horse's own neck. Obviously feeling eyes on him, he looked up and glanced around him for a moment before noticing Dean's stare. "…What?" he said.

"What aren't you telling me, Sammy?" Dean asked, not even bothering to hide the peevish note in his voice.

"It's Sam," he corrected. "Or Samuel. And what makes you think I was hiding something from you?"

"Come on, Sam!" Dean sighed, exasperated. "I've known you all your life - I know when you're hiding something from me."

Sam's face tightened and he nudged his horse in it's ribs, making it walk faster. "Yes, well," Sam said tersely. "Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Dean said, bringing his horse to a stop with a tug on the reigns.

Sam wheeled his own horse around to face his brother, his expression thunderous. "People change, Dean," he said. "After four years, don't you think I'll be different, that I wont be your chubby little brother chasing after you with a wooden sword?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Dean said, shaking his head. He could feel his hands curl into fists instinctively, reacting to the heated anger between them. "Don't even bring that up; you left _us, _it wasn't the other way around."

"If you didn't realize I've been wanting to leave that life for years," Sam said, his voice low and dangerous. "Then you know me even less than I thought." Nudging his horse with his knees Sam turned it back around and started down the path, headed back east.

"Where in the Nine Hells are you going now?" Dean asked, frustration a hot ball in his chest.

"Back to Silverymoon," Sam shot back over his shoulder. "Obviously this isn't working like you thought, and I have studying I need to do."

"Gods damn it," Dean growled under his breath. He turned his own horse and headed back down the way they came, vague thoughts of asking around town on his own churning around thoughts of betrayal and abandonment.

"Poor boy," the low female voice seemed to wrap around Dean, and he reigned in his horse, eyes immediately seeking out the source.

"Poor, poor boy," the voice repeated, and finally Dean could spot her.

She appeared to be an Elven woman, her features long and narrow with large, watery eyes. She stood waist-deep in the river, and her long white hair spilled over her shoulders to trail, spider web-like in the water. She moved forward a single step while he watched, and the luxurious robes she wore, wet and heavy with water, clung to her body in pleasing ways.

"He's always leaving, isn't he?" she continued, a undercurrent of something songlike in her voice. "Always leaving you behind, picking up the pieces he left with him. He doesn't care, he never did." She reached out one pale hand, and Dean found that he couldn't look away from the supplication. "I care for you, Dean. And I'll never leave you. Come here Dean, come into the water."

Dean heard a sucking sound and glanced down, finding to his surprise that he'd already dismounted and was on the very edge of the river, standing in ankle-deep mud. Dean turned his head slightly, looking down the road towards where Sam left. His brother had already disappeared down the road, however, and movement in front of him brought his eye back to the river.

The woman was another step closer, and this time both hands were out, palms up in a pleading position.

"Dean, come closer," she plead, her lips curving up in a closed-mouth smile. "You know you want to come into the water. You'll love it, you'll never have to worry about your father and brother ever again. Just imagine, no nights by yourself, no hunting horrific creatures. Everything will be peaceful, and it's just for you."

The water was suddenly knee high, and Dean was actively fighting the slow current as it flowed around him. He didn't pay any mind to the freezing cold water, his eyes were on those hands of hers that were coming closer with every slow step, his head full of her coaxing words. Then they were merely feet away from each other, close enough that Dean had only to reach out and he'd touch her outstretched hand, and as he watched her eyes grew wide in excitement, and her lips began to peel back to reveal pointed fangs.

At that moment there was a _whomph_ behind him, and a fireball soared past him close enough to feet the heat of it. The woman screeched as the fireball came close enough to singe her hand. The sound broke the spell she'd weaved around Dean, and he startled, pulling his spatha from it's scabbard. Before he could attack, the Glaistig hissed at him and dove underwater, disappearing from view.

Backing up and slipping in the muddy river bottom, Dean glanced back towards shore as he kept his spatha at the ready, towards where the fireball had come from.

Sam was standing on the shore, claymore out and with tiny motes of fire dancing around the blade before dying.

"Hurry up, Dean!" He shouted, eyes darting back and forth along the river. "Get out of the water!"

"When the _Nine Hells _did you learn to do that?" Dean shouted back, crawling through the thick mud. When he was just inches away from dry land there was a rush of water and the Glaistig erupted from the river, fingers hooked into claws and fanged mouth bared. Her sharp nails skittered over his scale breastplate and Dean lunged to the side, lashing out with his sword. She dodged the swipe adroitly, but Sam was ready with another fireball. It landed full on her shoulder, pushing her back a few feet and spinning her to her knees.

That gave Dean enough time to reach the shore, but she was only knocked aside for a moment and she lunged back for him again. Dean thrust at her with his sword again, and once more she dodged, and all Dean caught was a bit of draping sleeve.

Out of the water but with her robes clinging to her, her goat-like lower half plainly visible, she moved quickly on her hooved feet even in the mud. Sam circled around her and brought his claymore down in a two-handed overhead swipe, flames dancing along the edge of his blade. If it hit, the sword would cleaved her in two, but once more she avoided the blade.

"Did you think I was _only _in there to sit on my rump and read books?" Sam said, stepping back and eyeing the Glaistig, waiting for an opening.

Dean laughed and thrust once more, forcing the Glaistig further from the river bank.

"Dean, get back!" Sam commanded, and Dean immediately obeyed, taking a couple steps backward and away from the Glaistig. Before she could react, Sam had reached out with one hand, palm out, and a bolt of lightning arced from the palm of his hand and hit her dead-on.

She screamed, flying backwards and landing in the road, twitching and seizing. Dean's sword stabbed through the center of her chest ended her suffering.

Dean straightened with a sigh, yanking his sword out and wiping it on his damp pants. He went to sheathe it and paused, made a face at his now-wet sword, and held it loosely at his side as he turned to face his brother with a grin.

Sam had sheathed his own blade, and was making his way over to Dean, eyes on the Glaistig's body. He was barely breathing hard, Dean was irked to note.

"Magic, huh?" Dean said. "When did you learn that trick?"

"At the University," Sam said, his tone demanding Dean not to talk about it. "Come on, let's get her hair and go."

"Yeah, sure," Dean agreed, bending and drawing his boot knife. It sliced through close to her scalp easily, and as he rose he twisted the hair into a knot while Sam went to collect both of their horses, which had cantered down the road in the fight.

"Still, that was a good trick, with the sword," He continued. "How you made it ablaze like that. I can't say that I've ever saw any wizard do that before."

Sam sighed and turned to face Dean. "It's a skill popular among Genasi and Eladrin," he explained, bringing the horses over. "And it's one of the Arts I've been learning. Now can we go?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean said, shivering as a breeze blew over his wet skin. Sam paused in the middle of handing over the reins to Dean's black horse and finally let them drop.

"Never mind," he said. "You're going to freeze if you don't get out of those wet clothes, and cleaned up a little. We'll camp here, off the road; it's too late to head back now."

Dean grinned. "You sure? Wouldn't want you to miss your big interview."

Sam shrugged. "We'll have plenty of time. Come on, I'll start a fire, you at least get that mud off."


	3. Chapter 3

Not too much later Dean was wrapped in a blanket, clothes draped over a tree branch to dry, hauberk and breastplate gleaming at the side, sword cleaned and within reaching distance.

After his brother had cleaned up in the river, Sam dragged the Glaistig's body over and dumped it in, leaving it for whatever other creatures lurking in the waters to finish off. Dean had suggested taking her robes to sell for easy cash, but Sam felt uncomfortable enough disposing a body that looked so humanoid in such a callous way that he vetoed that idea right away.

Sam poked at the fire with a long stick, looking at the flames but not seeing them, wrapped up too deeply in his own thoughts.

He's learned the Art of the sword mage as a path for personal fulfillment, a way to bridge his past life as a swordsman -granted, an unwilling one - with his burgeoning sorcerous abilities, and never expected to actually use them in a combat situation.

'_It was only a matter of time, though,_' he mused bleakly. _'You know you were planning on joining the city watch, to protect the people of Silverymoon. You'd have to use those abilities against someone, sometime.' _

That wasn't his only concern, far from it.

Hunting with Dean again felt right, like sliding on a pair of boots that fit him perfectly. Their teamwork was rusty, but they'd fallen into it was an ease that frankly scared Sam. He had his life planned - he'd impress his potential sponsor with his knowledge of laws across Faerun, the subject that had been forefront of his studies, and have the monetary advancement enough to pay for several more years of schooling. Then when he finished the obligatory period of teaching new students, he'd join the guard. Due to his education he'd enter as a Captain, and then make his way up the ranks. His goal was to finish as a judge, putting criminals away and making Silverymoon a better protected, fairer city.

It'd be a hard life, but it would be an honest one - Dean and his siren call for life on the road was too strong, sleeping in mud, going hungry, and doing dirty work for a bit of coin and all.

Dean sneezed, and Sam looked up to see his brother nearly sitting on top of the fire, looking cold and miserable. Sam sighed, expression softening and tossed his stick in the fire. He rose to his feet and grabbed the blanket from his own bedroll, circling around the fire and dropping down beside his brother.

Dean looked up, his cocked eyebrow a question that Sam ignored as he threw the blanket around both of them, leaning in and lending his own warmth to Dean

"What are you doing, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice a whisper.

Sam, hyperaware that the only clothes Dean was wearing was a pair of under-shorts and the same necklace he'd worn since Sam was a child, replied in kind, "Just keeping you warm, Dean. No more than that."

Both men were quiet for a long time after that, both remembering awkward fumbles in the dark, bitten-off gasps, secrets and dangerous closeness. Neither of them said a word when Sam eventually extricated himself to drag his bedroll over to Dean's, and neither of them spoke when the fire was banked and they lay down together, Dean's back to Sam's front, and eventually neither of them could say anything because they were both asleep.

o--[:::::::::::

Morning came slowly, and that was how Sam awoke. He had a moment of disconnect - his bed felt wrong, and the birds outside his window were different than what he was used to. The body in his arms on the other hand was warm and familiar and he ran his hand down that other person's side slowly, caressing sleep-warm skin before sliding around their waist and pulling them closer, grinding his morning wood against a cloth-covered backside.

The body in his arms stretched, back arching and pressing closer, and Dean groaned Sam's name, voice rough with sleep.

Sam froze, heart in his throat, and pushed himself away, falling off of the bedroll he was laying on and rolling to his feet. Sam walked several steps away from the next of blankets and Dean on shaking legs and leaned against a tree, guilt burning in his belly.

"Sam?" He could hear Dean ask, and despite every instinct telling him not to, he turned just enough to face his brother. Dean was sitting mostly up in bed, short hair sticking up all over and looking like temptation itself. "What's wrong - why'd you stop?"

Sam swallowed hard. "Jess."

Dean looked at Sam for a long moment, incomprehension written across his face as a mind still mostly asleep and horny tried to catch up. Sam could see the exact moment when Dean realized what Sam wasn't saying, the flash of insight, then everything shutting down. Sam looked away when Dean threw off the covers and marched over where his clothes were hanging.

Not looking at Dean while his brother began to dress in his still-damp clothing, Sam kicked dirt over the near-dead fire until the ashes were covered and started separating the two bedrolls and blankets, rolling them up and tying them closed. By the time he was finished Dean was standing by the horses, having packed everything but their rolls, and was chewing on a hunk of cheese, watching Sam with shaded eyes.

With a sad smile, Sam noted that Dean was back in his armor - both figurative and literal; Dean's face was guarded, not letting any hint of his inner thoughts slip. Sam refused to let himself feel sorry for hurting his brother's feelings - just because Sam got past childish things that never should have happened and Dean didn't, didn't mean that Sam was in the wrong.

Despite what must be going through Dean's mind, Sam was taken aback when Dean held out his other hand, offering Sam another piece of cheese. Sam hesitated for just a moment before dropping the bedrolls, taking the food and eating it while Dean finished with his own. Dean grabbed his bedroll and fixed it to his horse's saddle and rode out to the road, looking over the river. Sam finished quickly and followed soon after, and without speaking a word to each other headed down the road once more for Everlund.

Dean didn't seem to want to break the silence between them, and Sam let him have his silence.

'_This is for the best,' _he thought, refusing to look over at the dark figure to his left. _'This just proves that I can't do this anymore, especially with him. I'm over those feelings, and if he's not… that's his own problem.'_

The lies burned, but Sam pretended he didn't notice. Even half asleep there's no mistaking Dean's body for Jess's.

They reached Everlund around midday, and went right for Albriecht's shop. The moment they entered the shop the heavyset man glanced up, and his eyes grew wide in excitement.

"How did it go? Did you find it? Is it dead? Please tell me you've got good news!" He said, rounding the counter.

Dean just reached into his breastplate and withdrew the knot of hair he'd stashed there, and as soon as light hit the filmy strands the old merchant sagged with relief.

"That is excellent news," he exclaimed, throwing his arms around both Dean and Sam and pulled them into a breathtaking embrace. He released them, hands still on their shoulders, beaming. Then he pulled him into another short embrace before letting them go and hurrying to his register.

"You're wanting your reward now, I'm sure. I was so certain that you boys would deal with our little problem that I had made sure to set your gold aside. I didn't expect you'd be back so quickly, though!"

Albriecht returned to them with a little cloth bag bulging with coin and he looked between the two of them, momentarily lost. Then, with only a slight hesitation, offered the bag to Dean. Sam tried not to roll his eyes - even then people always assumed Dean was the one in charge, hesitation notwithstanding.

"Thanks," Dean said, pocketing the money. "But did you get any information about -"

"Your father!" Albreicht interrupted. "Of course, of course, dear boy. He left word at one of the tavern keepers in town - apparently he knew I'd be asking there about him, which is keen of your father, but I don't understand why he didn't talk to me directly. It'd be a lot less trouble on all our parts, wouldn't you think?"

"Hey!" Dean cut in sharply, and both Sam and Albriecht jumped and stared at him in surprise. Dean's face was angry, and his hand had gravitated towards the hilt of his spatha. "Just tell me what you learned, alright?"

The old clothier collected himself gradually, smoothing his hands down the front of his tunic and looking affronted while Dean grew gradually more agitated.

Sam stepped in before they lost that lead forever. "Please, milord Albriecht," he said in his best soothing voice. "I'm very sorry, but it's been a long couple days and we're anxious for news. What can you tell us about our father?"

Sam's words had their desired effect and the man seemed to calm. He nodded and returned to his counter, coming back that time with a piece of paper. He handed it to Sam, and Sam took it with a small bow.

"He just told the tavern keeper to give that to anyone who asked about him. I apologize, but that's all I know."

"Thank you," Sam replied, and unfolded the paper. Written in their father's familiar scrawl were just two words: _Baldur's Gate. _

Sam cursed and passed the note over to Dean. Dean stared at the letters far too long to be just reading the message. Finally he balled his fist, crumpling the sheet of precious paper between his fingers and stormed out the door.

"Bad news, I take it?" Albriecht asked in a small voice.

Sam nodded, eyes on the door Dean slammed through and said, without looking at the other man, "Yes, you can say that. Thank you for your help, but I have to go."

As soon as Sam left he saw Dean standing by the horses, plucking coins out of the pouch Albriecht had given them and putting them in another. When Sam neared Dean pulled the cords on them, pulling them closed. He tucked the second pouch in his breastplate where nimble fingers wouldn't be able to grab it without him hopefully noticing, and tossed the first to Sam. Sam grabbed it in midair, knowing that Dean'd given him exactly half of their earnings.

"You really shouldn't do that outside where everyone can see you," he advised, unable to stop himself.

Dean just shrugged and untied his horse and moved to mount the beast. "Whatever. Hurry up, if we push the horses we can get you back to Silverymoon right before the gates close for the night."

All of Sam's arguments for Dean not going after their father, to just get on with his life and to stop playing their father's games dried up as he watched his brother act like nothing was going on. It was infuriating and depressing all at once, and Sam had no idea what to say to his brother.

"Alright Dean," Sam said, his voice soft. "Let's go." He untied his own horse and mounted up, following Dean who'd already started for the west. Instead of riding abreast he followed his brother, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes drink their fill of him.

By the time they were nearing Silverymoon the mood had relaxed to the point that Dean had started talking with Sam again. Neither of them mentioned the past four years and how they missed each other, but instead shared ribald jokes, and occasionally spoke of different events they'd heard going on all over Faerun.

Despite the distance, the walls of Silverymoon came all too soon, and the sun was setting by the time they'd reached the stables once more that they'd first officially set off on their first adventure in years.

Sam dismounted and Dean followed, not speaking as Sam handed the reigns over.

"What are you going to do with him now?" Sam found himself asking, stroking the roan gelding's nose.

Dean shrugged. "The horse? Don't know - I won him in a game of dice anyway." Dean grinned at Sam's sigh and continued. "Probably keep him around as a second - he can carry my packs while I ride the other, make things easier on 'im."

Sam nodded, and they fell quiet for a while, just looking at each other. The sound of the guard announcing the closing of the gates in an hour broke into their bubble of tension with the force of a whip crack and Dean's eyes grew wide and begging.

"We did good, right Sam?" He asked, sounding like nothing more than a child begging for a kind word. "We're a good team, me and you."

Sam made himself close his eyes, unable to look at that expression any longer. "I can't stay, Dean. I got a life here."

Sam could hear Dean sigh, and agree with a quiet "Yeah." Another short pause, and Dean said, "So I'll see you around, yeah?"

Sam gave Dean a wavery smile and agreed, both of them knowing that there was a very real chance that they would never see each other ever again.

Dean thumped Sam on the shoulder and Sam hurried through the gates before they could close on him and was once more in Silverymoon. Home.

Sam strolled through the streets of Silverymoon, appreciating the inherent beauty of the city for the first time in what seemed like ages - it truly was the "Gem of the North," a hub of learning and art, and it took spending two days with his brother, a force of chaos if ever there was one, to remind him of the reasons the city attracted him in the first place.

Of course, chaos had it's appeal as well, but Sam was emphatically not thinking that.

The sun had fully set by the time he'd reached the University and Sam quickened his step, suddenly anxious to return to his tiny dorm and rest his weary body.

He entered the main room and paused, grinning at the plate of small cakes resting on the open window sill. He picked one up and bit into it, eyes closing in bliss at the taste of the still-warm spiced cake - a very welcome home, indeed. It was obviously Jess's touch - she probably didn't expect him back so early, but the treat would have been fine for a couple days more.

Shoving the last of the cake in his mouth in a bout of gluttony Dean would have been proud of, Sam entered his bed room, slightly disappointed to not see Jess in there waiting for him. Understanding that she may be studying, herself, since not every student at the University had elder brothers to drag them away, Sam collapsed onto his bed and ignored the uncomfortable hardness of the sword at his back, his eyes closed and preparing to just rest for a little while.

He felt something wet drip onto his forehead, as if the ceiling was leaking. However, there were several rooms above him, Sam knew, and he opened his eyes to investigate.

Jess looked down at him the ceiling, as flattened as if she were laying on the ground, hair fanned about her head. The wetness, the blood Sam realized in a split second, came from her belly that was sliced across from one side to the other.

"No," he gasped, then shouted, "No!" But fates, the Gods, or whoever else could be listening paid no heed to his demand, and as Sam watched fire engulfed Jess's body and spread across the ceiling.

Sam jumped to his feet, screaming Jess's name and sent a cone of frost to her body with an upraised hand, hoping to drench her enough that he could get her down without harming her. The fire was unaffected and continued to spread as if the walls were coated in oil, smoke thick enough for Sam to choke on.

Sam tried again, but once more the frost melted and evaporated away before it could stop the fire in it's path. He thrust out his hand once more, but before he could send out another useless spell strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him back against and armored chest.

"Let go, Dean!" He demanded, trying to wriggle out of his brother's hold.

"No, Sam," Dean growled in Sam's ear. "We have to go! There's nothing you can do for her now."

"No!" Sam cried, and he continued to fight his brother even as people began to crowd into the room, mostly mages with more powerful spells, sending them out to try and stem the spread of the fire.

Eventually Sam collapsed, hanging limply in Dean's arms as he watched mages of power impossible to gauge fight against the deadly fire with limited success, watching the flames lick out of the edges of his doorway until his vision grew so blurry with tears he couldn't watch anything more.


End file.
